


The Deepest, Most Desperate Desire

by muffliato



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Head Auror Harry Potter, Mirror of Erised, Quidditch World Cup, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muffliato/pseuds/muffliato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Head Auror Harry Potter only wanted to think about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, flying with his family, and catching up with the DA. The last thing on his mind was a half-forgotten mirror. But little did he know that an irritating case and his heart's desire would lead to all being well. — Compliant with canon as well as the Rita Skeeter World Cup article.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deepest, Most Desperate Desire

**A/N:** When I first read the 7th book I turned every page tentatively, waiting for something I was sure had been foreshadowed. My despair grew with every word until, with the Epilogue, my disappointment was cemented. Because, though a Disney-esque Platform 9 ¾ is well and good, I wanted to see Harry’s new heart’s desire. An eleven year old orphan would yearn for family. But would a war survivor and happily married father of three gain closure from whatever he’d see in the Mirror of Erised? I was, unfortunately, never to know.

Years later at uni, my friend L mentioned a wonderful theory of hers: content with a life filled with family and friends, Harry would find Erised but think nothing of it. For why would he care about what appeared to be an ordinary mirror, one that showed him as he was?

After proclaiming L’s absolute and utter brilliance (a rather common occurrence) I secured her blessing to write a fic based off of it. But it was only after J.K. Rowling’s Rita Skeeter article about the Quidditch World Cup that I finished the drabble. Mixing the two, I altered L’s incredible idea a touch. I’m very sorry for that, but I felt that our favourite hero ought to know he’s found happiness.

**General Disclaimer:** Not J.K. Rowling, not making any profit, and not attending any World Cup.

* * *

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi”

— The Mirror of Erised’s inscription, _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_

* * *

Arriving at Borgin and Burkes, Head Auror Harry Potter could barely restrain himself from cursing. He knew he should be happy. They’d been working towards this raid for months, after all, and it had gone successfully. No lives lost, at least. But with an unknown problem, he’d been called in at what was supposed to be the start of his vacation. So he wasn’t exactly chipper. Then, as an added bonus, due to the anti-apparation wards he’d had to travel by floo. He felt that this alone would be cause enough to swear.

“Really, _really_?” Harry gritted out, tripping over the fireplace’s hearth. A stormy glare around the store’s front room silenced most of the snickers. Taking in the milling aurors (some of whom were still chuckling, while none were working), his scowl reached an intimidating level. Because of this, as the worst of the soot was angrily dusted brushed off, no one dared step forward…that is, until the Head Auror’s patience broke. “OI! If I was a bloke under polyjuice, I’ve had time to hex half you lot. What’s happened to security screening at a crime scene!”

Everyone jumped into action with an odd mix of hurried professionalism and stammered apologies. None of this put their boss in a better mood, even with a late check of his identity.

“Abercrombie! Where’s Bones and McLaggen?” Harry gritted out as the younger auror in question hastily, magically confirmed that the new arrival was indeed who he appeared to be. “You were supposed to report in ages ago.”

“Sorry, Head Auror Potter. Sir,” Euan Abercrombie finished the enchantment and took a nervous glance behind him. “That is, Lord Potter—”

“Stop. Just stop,” he sighed, forcing his anger to recede. It wasn’t the other wizard’s fault that his day was threatening to fall into shambles. “Enough with the honourifics. Euan, I’m sorry for barking at you. But I have a portkey to Argentina in an hour and this is the last thing I need.”

“Argentina?” Euan’s ‘hero worshipping’ expression shifted on. Harry only just resisted groaning. “Because of the mascots and inferi?”

“For a family vacation,” Harry gave into his sigh. He noted that everyone else was keeping a wide distance from him and figured this wasn’t a good sign. “I get it, my luck’s idiotic. But what’s going on here? There hasn’t been an update since the initial raid. Is anyone hurt?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Euan didn’t seem altogether convinced by this. “We’ve been waiting for orders.”

“For orders?” Harry blinked, stunned. Of all potential problems, he hadn’t been imagining this. “I’d think McLaggen wouldn’t hesitate to give instructions.”

“Well…yeah. At first,” the younger wizard fidgeted, looking as though he wished anyone would come to take his place. But no other auror had enough courage to step into the perhaps-not-so-figurative line of fire. “Then Senior Auror Bones and he started arguing in the back room.”

“Ah,” Harry resisted the urge to headdesk, silently cursing Hermione for convincing him to try out joint task forces. He’d hoped that Susan would pull back McLaggen, but he guessed everyone’s patience had a breaking point. Not that he was blaming McLaggen with no evidence, but prior incidents weren’t in his favour. Merlin only knew he still wouldn’t get anywhere near that git and a beater’s bat. “Let me guess, they’re having a wizarding duel over leadership?”

“Not exactly.”

“A brawl?” dread spiralled through the Head Auror. “Tell me McLaggen hasn’t actually found a bat.”

“It’s kind of a fight?” Euan looked at his boss strangely at the last. “Or a duel? It’s…weird, actually.”

“ _Kind of_ a fight?” the Head Auror repeated in mild disbelief. He then groaned, giving up this conversation as a lost cause. Drawing his wand and stalking past the whispering aurors, he headed across the shop into the back room without further ado.

Walking through the door cautiously (in case there was actually something worse than bruised egos), the sight in front of Harry confirmed his fears. For the towering piles of treasure and rubbish as well as the witch and wizard flinging spells back and forth was about what he’d been expecting. ‘Kind of a fight’ indeed.

Harry dove behind some boxes as a mild cutting curse ricocheted past, edging so close that he felt the scrape of the spell against his skin. Glancing around the corner he realised his initial view was partly incorrect. While Susan Bones was firing hexes at Cormac McLaggen, instead of answering back in kind he’d resorted to just chucking items at her. As a Hand of Glory was swinging wildly from her hair (pulling out locks of it at random), and her opponent’s legs had turned into a slimy fish tail, the ‘duel’ seemed to be at a draw. But neither were slowing their attacks. If anything, their movements were becoming more fanatic by the moment.

“ _Blasted, trigger-happy idiots_ ,” Harry muttered to himself, happily ignoring the hypocrisy of this statement. With a low sigh he started crawling towards them, keeping any object he could between himself and the fighting. Huddling behind a large pane of glass, he peered out and took aim. With two quick body-binds, the wayward aurors had slumped to the floor.

“You’d better be enchanted,” he spoke up at a regular volume. Getting to his feet he turned the corner towards the prone figures. He began undoing their hexes, pulling off the magical items that had been thrown back and forth. The fish tail and beard made out of seaweed were vanished while the Hand of Glory was stunned and tossed away. Yet in wrestling a rope mixed with a boa constrictor that had a strangle-hold on Susan’s legs, he noticed an odd taste in the corner of his mouth. A metallic taste.

Binding and tossing away the rope, Harry wiped his fingers against his lip. Feeling liquid, he traced it up to a sliced gash, “The cutting curse. Just perfect.”

Deciding questioning the aurors could wait a few moments, he stepped back to the pane of glass he’d hid behind earlier. He noted it was actually a full-length mirror, one whose jagged sides had been cut out from a frame.

Harry blinked at his reflection. Absently rubbing leftover soot and some green paint from his nose, he frowned at what was indeed a gash across his right cheekbone. The wound was closed with a quick healing charm, though a nasty cut remained. With a cleaning spell the blood vanished. Not glancing at the rest of his reflection, he spun back around to the aurors.

“ _Finite incantatem_. Stay still or I’ll stun you!” Harry barked out, his patience long gone. Though the aurors stayed still their gazes kept drifting past him. He had a firm suspicion that neither was truly paying attention to him. But a glance behind him was only met with the ordinary mirror, so who knew what the distraction was. “Yes or no: is there any immediate danger?”

“N–no,” Susan stumbled out, letting out a half-sob. McLaggen muttered something under his breath.

“Right. Fantastic. Figured that out myself,” annoyance tugged at Harry’s concern. “Why were you attacking each other?”

“We, it, ” she stammered, unable to get the words out. Her boss frowned, unsettled by the out of character behaviour, “the mirr—”

“LET ME SEE IT!” McLaggen lunged forward, eyes wild. With a single stunner he was again down, but Harry was left staring at him in utter bewilderment. Not dropping his wand this time, the Head Auror turned to the now sobbing witch.

“Susan,” Harry said slowly, keeping his wand aimed at her, “tell me what happened.”

“I, I—”

“Take a deep breath,” he tried to keep his tone calm, remaining wary. Her wand had been knocked away and she made no attempt to reach for it. “I really need to know what happened here.”

“I saw my, my _family!_ ” her voice hitched with hysterics on the last word.

Harry was again caught off-guard. Her family? Who was she talking about? He hadn’t thought she had much close family. Even if she had, what were they doing waltzing around a crime scene?

“First it was Auntie Amelia,” Susan was sobbing. She curled in on herself, transforming before his eyes into the stark opposite of his usually cool and confident friend. “Then mum and dad. Everyone else just, just surrounded them…all smiling at me, waving me forward. I just could–couldn’t—”

“Susan,” Harry said gently, kneeling down and edging his wand away. Though still cautious, he was now mainly worried. It was clear she was in no state to attack him. He even felt a beat of guilt for stunning McLaggen, “I’m not sure what you saw. But, your family? I’m sorry, but they’re gone. They’ve been dead for years.”

“THEY WERE HERE!” the hysterical tone came back as she lurched forward as well. Harry caught her, tugging her back down. “McLaggen saw something too! He was muttering about being Minister of Magic or some nonsense, but he was staring at the glass too. The git pushed me from the mirror, saying his image was, was more important!”

“ _The mirror?_ ” Harry mumbled, unease settling in his stomach. These details were plucking from his thoughts a half-forgotten memory. “No, no. It can’t be.”

“So I pushed back!” Susan exclaimed, stumbling voice tightening as she glared at the unconscious McLaggen. She remained oblivious to Harry’s shock. “He wouldn’t let me look, don’t you understand? I HAD TO SEE THEM! I, I had to. I have to…”

“Okay, okay. It’ll be okay,” Harry said numbly as she cried against him. He knew he should be saying soothing words, doing something to make her feel better. But he felt like he was in a daze.

Only two productive thoughts floated through this murk. So, while continuing the comforting embrace, Harry conjured a Patronus and gave it a message. He also gently tugged his hysterical friend to the side so that the jagged remains of the mirror were no longer in view.

The other aurors had soon followed his instructions and had made their way to the back room. McLaggen was carried out and then revived, both the Senior Aurors were given calming potions and sent to the Ministry, and a cloth was enchanted to cover the mirror at the centre of all of this. With the most immediate issues taken care of, the team was at last set the task of cataloguing the shop’s illegal magical items.

After sending word for a Senior Auror to take his place, Harry found himself with a calm moment. It was only then that he faltered, hesitating about what to do. He’d just made up his mind to return to the front room and wait by the fireplace, when he found his feet moving on their own accord in the opposite direction.

The wizard thus waded around the working officials back to where the fight had occurred (an area that everyone else was avoiding on his instruction). Cautious, he eyed the tall mirror as he stood in front of the hanging cloth. He inspected the slithers of uncovered sharp edges of the glass. Even with the covering, he could perfectly picture the gilded metal that had once framed it. A part of him wondered what had happened to it. A larger part of him didn’t care, not when confronted with the rest.

Harry gave a low exhale. Reaching out a hand, he paused.

If this was the mirror, did he really want to look? He’d just gotten a stunning reminder of how powerful the enchantment was. What if he was sucked in as well? What if the aurors had to tug him away? He’d fight back, start hexing, and they’d have to leave him here. But they’d tell his family. It was with this thought that the scenario all too easily formed in his mind. A horde of Potters and Weasleys would race in to find…him. Kneeling with nose and palms pressed against the glass, staring hungrily and blind to all else.

Harry closed his eyes. His hand was left extended inches from the covered mirror.

Shaking away the fearful images, he was somewhat successful. But the nervousness remained. Was he taking a stupid risk? He’d become obsessed when he was eleven, Susan and McLaggen had duelled after just a peek at their desires, and he could easily hurt someone if he too decided to put up a fight. Was satisfying his curiosity really worth it?

But the danger was tiny. More importantly, Harry had looked at the glass a few short minutes before. Even if it had seemed like an ordinary mirror, that must be a good sign. Maybe, due to its years, it took more than a single glance for the spell to kick in. Maybe, in his quick look, he’d missed his loved ones peering out from behind him. Maybe he’d just been distracted, what with focussing on the cut while his mind had been on the bewildering situation. Whatever it was, he told himself he was being paranoid. Who cared if the mirror was enchanting? He could surely wrench himself away. Of course he could. He’d be fine.

Mind thus made up (having never been one to resist curiosity), his fingers clenched. Gripping the cloth he flung it to the ground.

Then he stared.

And stared.

Harry couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognised the mirror from the start. Even without the jewelled frame and chiseled words at the top, the slants and valleys of the glass were unmistakable. After all, he’d once spent countless hours memorising the surface. Not that the mirror itself was interesting, but even what his family had been imprinted on had become precious.

He blinked. His reflection blinked, then raised a hand to almost press against the glass. His double did the same. They stared at each other, wholly ordinary doppelgangers. Perfectly in-sync. His brow crinkled as his mirrored self showed equal confusion.

“It’s me,” Harry gazed at the image mouthing identical words. His other hand was now pressed against the glass. Both pairs of eyes darted about, examining the other, seeing nothing behind either of them but the cluttered room. No dead or alive loved ones. “Just me. What?”

The Mirror of Erised hadn’t even gotten rid of his minute facial scars, or the darkened circles around his eyes (courtesy of three kids, one wild godson, and childishly trigger-happy aurors). His fingers curled next to the healing cut on his cheek, right below the glasses that were practically identical to what he’d worn at eleven. He could barely see the faded lightning bolt beneath his black fringe (as well as one or two sparks of silver he chose to ignore).

“This can’t be right,” Harry muttered to himself, gaze still bewildered. “Sure, it wouldn’t be my parents. But it’d be Ginny and the kids. The Weasleys. They’re my heart’s desi…”

Harry’s voice trailed off as realisation darted through him. As well as a blaze of dizziness. He grabbed hold of the glass’ sharp edges to keep from falling over, his stare not leaving the mirror. The small cuts on his palms were ignored. More crucially, the wizard no longer noticed the tiredness lingering over his reflected features. All he could now see were the burgeoning laugh lines that outnumbered his scars, the shadows under his eyes from ‘talking’ with Ginny into the early morn, and the smudge of green finger paint left from playing with Lily.

Amongst his black hair (with no grey strands, of course not) tiny specks of red were scattered, the remaining result of George hitting him with yet another hair dying charm. Harry could also just spot some lightened eyebrow lashes, courtesy of Luna’s ongoing test of what colour best repelled Wrackspurts.

Thoughts spiralling, Harry absently scratched his ear—only noticing he was doing this by catching sight of the reflexive movement. He stopped and groaned, still uncertain how a night out with Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus had turned into ‘tipsy’ Quodpot with exploding itching powder. He wasn’t planning on mentioning this to Ginny. It wasn’t like the Firewhisky was a problem, but her fiery annoyance with the alternative to Quidditch made her a mite scary.

Continuing to survey the mirror, he noted his wedding ring could do with a scourgify. Though honestly, his whole ensemble was a mess. His socks were mix-matched due to hurrying out to ‘save’ Teddy from Bill’s overprotective father act, his trousers were dyed violet from the explosive breakfast James had dared to call treacle tart, and his clothes were scuffed from chasing Al around on his toy broomstick.

Harry took an uneasy breath, struggling to find his balance. For the mirror showed him. Just him.

The Head Auror let out a burst of hysteric laughter. His image echoed him, but both fell silent before anyone could notice. Pushing his glasses up he scrubbed at a wetness by his eyes. It was because of this that he caught a glimpse of his reflected watch (one that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett).

He leapt backwards in a panic, thoughts of lateness and missing his international portkey resurfacing. Spelling the cloth back over the mirror’s surface (while sticking out his tongue to his equally amused reflection), he raced out of the room as though rabid Hungarian Horntails and pygmy puffs were after him.

For Harry wasn’t about to lose even a moment he could be spending with his family.

* * *

“The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is.”

— Albus Dumbledore, _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_


End file.
